Killing Sin
by SarcasticSeraph
Summary: What if Jafar had never joined Sinbad? What if he had spent over ten years trying to assassinate that one man, yet embarrassingly failed at every turn? He'd be angry, and bitter, and desperate for just one, last chance to take the life of the one person eluding him. Finally he has that chance, just not in a manner he expected... SinbadxJafar, fem!Jafar (at the start), eventual yaoi
1. His Target, Locked

_**Killing Sin**_

_**His Target: Locked**_

"Remember; His Majesty will be displeased if you fail this time..."

That taunt in Falan's voice was both playful and vapid as it struck against Jafar's ears. Everything about the woman felt almost like a blow to the stomach, or possibly inhaling something rancid – he could never decide. Regardless, that _bitch _wasn't someone he wanted to see. Yet she had been sent here, to keep an eye on him especially considering the times he had failed. And that woman, the Magical _Bitch_ Counsellor from the failing empire he had been sold to many years ago, was here to torment him. As she felt this was his last chance, and seemed pleased at that. Simply, if Jafar failed now in killing Sinbad he would be killed too.

It's why the woman was so happy. She floated there, and like him was looking over the pillars and spires adorning Remona's skyline. Where Jafar had been for hours, a still and streamlined figure swathed in dark clothing and bandages concealing his unreadable features as he looked down. He was carefully scanned the wide, marble streets of Reim for that _bastard_. Because Falan said this was where he would be. That Sinbad, that _bastard_ he had spent over ten years trying to kill, was here. And if he brought him back to Partevia, then he wouldn't be punished.

It was past embarrassing, not be able to kill one _fucking_ person. Yet as Jafar had never failed to kill any other target, and perhaps because he had been the closest to killing Sinbad, he was still alive. But this time, if he failed, it wouldn't just be his life but everyone in Sham Lash. Yes, every one of those _fucking useless trash_ he was stuck with in his assassin's guild would die, too. The people the twenty-year old had spent ten years of his _fucking _life training. Who he had finally made a little less than completely useless. For _fuck sake..._ this wasn't his fault. Sinbad just somehow seemed good at eluding anyone Partevia sent after him. Not just once, but at every dungeon. Jafar scowled; if it hadn't been for that _one fucking person_ he might have had a fairly profitable career. He might even have been promoted. But after all this, and when he succeeded, he still doubted that _son of a fucking bitch of an Emperor _he served would give him anything.

Luckily, he still had his reputation, which was why Jafar was convinced he was still alive. The pale man, passing like a ghost in the night, who always succeeded when it came to anyone else. He was good at what he did – in his mind, the best. Which made it more infuriating why it had taken _ten fucking years_ to kill someone. And wasted a decade doing such a thing. No, _fuck this_. He wouldn't be bringing Sinbad alive after everything; he never had any intention to. He'd bring him back in bloody pieces. After taking any metallic vessels and power that _bastard_ had for himself.

So no, he wasn't incompetent, despite what that magician _bitch_'s smirk told him. The very notion made his eyes narrow in quiet fury. He was the very best of all those _shitty, good for nothing pieces of trash_ he had been stuck with in his guild. Men like his underlings, like Vittel and Maher, wouldn't be able to assassinate their way out of a paper bag next to him. Not that such a thing was either practical or necessary, but that was hardly the point. The point was, after doing this, after _fucking finally_ assassinating that man; they bad better recognise his skills.

For now, whilst he attempted in vain to ignore the unpleasant yet radiant woman hovering beside him in the late afternoon in Reim, the silver-haired man crept to the edge of the tower's roof. He had perched there so long his body ached, but it didn't matter. He had been waiting here, right from the moment Falan informed him that's where his target would be. And nothing would get in his way; he would enjoy this.

At the thought, a small smile curled from under his concealed features. To that, the Magical _Bitch _Councillor of the failing Partevia Empire laughed loudly. Her somewhat impressive chest wobbled dangerously in her mirth, as if ready to break free and unleash its terror upon the world. "You know, _chief_..." she didn't exactly pronounce that title with respect either. _Bitch_. "I've forgotten just how long you've tried to kill that man..."

"...No you haven't," he gritted his teeth. He just had to be stuck with her, and relying on her help. At least if he had Mahad, or Vittel or any of Sham Lash with him, well...at least he could _beat the fucking crap_ out of them if they pissed him off. Yet he doubted he could hit such a powerful magician without regretting it. And he was doing this _not_ to die. So he endured those taunts. And all the while thought if he was so expendable, they'd have killed after he had failed that one time ten years ago.

Still...it was too long to chasing him. It had to end, which was one reason why he had staked his life on this. He was done being mocked by her, and wanted to see the look on that _stupid bitch's_ face when he won.

"But...he has gotten very handsome now," she confided in him. Gushing somewhat spectacularly in fact. Jafar froze, and slowly looked back. And from her gleaming expression, it was a look she enjoyed. "So tall and muscular...you're lucky I didn't give into his charms and fight him myself. But you better be quick if you want to catch him."

"...What? Where?"

"Headed south."

Yes; if this was one of his men, he'd be _happily murdering the living crap out of them _right now. Yet it wasn't. "Why the fuck didn't you say that sooner?"

"Oh my; do I have to do your job for you? Did you think staying here all day was the best plan?"

It was, as theoretically he could see everything from here. He cursed, again, and loudly. But he didn't hesitate. He was already racing against the wind, that promise of a fresh kill bright in his eyes. Quickly he leapt from arch, to spiralling tower, to another arch, before finally rounding the coliseum. Given his lithe, graceful frame such was fairly effortless. The mosaics adorning Reim's streets ran like a pale river of tiles below him; and he could have laughed. This was it. He came to an abrupt halt at the edge of the aqueducts which overlooked the significantly lower buildings to the south of the capital. Simply put, it was the less reputable side to the city. Where the slums, the beggars and the whores all resided; where they were all carefully confined to best spare the capital of their stench and voices.

He glanced around eagerly and sure enough the _bitch_ was right. There he was. After not being able to track him for the best part of a year – there that _bastard_ was. And so blissfully unaware of the oceans of red death Jafar was about to make gush from his corpse. The powerful yet slim frame was picking its way gracefully through the crowds and mass of dappled horses below, violet and white robes sweeping about him. It was as though that idiot really was just taking a leisurely stroll, and quite unaware it would be his last. Wires tightened at Jafar's wrists, somewhat painfully, as he felt his body heat up. Every fibre of his murderous self wanted to kill him; so, so badly. Daggers ready, he was poised to leap down. His whole body was just waiting for his unspoken command to –

"I'd not do that out in the open. We were in enemy territory."

_Fucking magician bitch from hell..._

"I wasn't going to!" he made the mistake of facing her, and breaking his lock in his target. That most basic rule, and it was forgotten in his anger. Looking back, Sinbad had already vanished from his sights. And it was her fault. "...You stupid bitch! Of course I wasn't going to attack him in the streets! I was going to –"

"You shouldn't use such language in front of a lady," Jafar didn't see how that mattered. And she was sure as hell no lady. More like a hovering, mocking nightmare he wanted to gut like a _fucking pig_ right now. "You still lost him though. Have you even got a plan?"

Yes...to kill him. "Forget that. Did you see where he went?"

"Heh...I wonder~"

The _bitch_ magician was far too amused, and that was never a good sign. She was considering him, as if he was stupid for not knowing where Sinbad had fled to. As he gave her a vacant, yet furious look, her index finger pointed to the building opposite where he was crouched. Certainly it was one that stood out, and not exactly for its striking architecture. No, it was more for those vibrant yet badly dyed strips of linen hanging over its windows and doors in various shades of red, as if the brothel was trying to seem more high-class than it actually was. Yet the material was draped tantalisingly, as if daring men to enter, and to seek a release to their discounted desires within. Even from where he was, Jafar could smell the cheap, unappealing perfume its hostesses slathered on their barely clothed bodies to draw attention to their trade.

"Your target has a weakness you overlooked. A weakness all men have; for pretty girls with a body like mine," she announced proudly. And with those low cut and tight robes, the vastness of her exposed chest was provocative enough. At least, to those finding such a thing appealing. Jafar however just looked blankly at her. "...Hm? Well, most men. A certain type is immune to my charms~"

"One who values his life..." even so, Jafar thought about that. If it was a weakness, he'd expose it. "So he's going to see a hostess in there?"

"Oh I'd imagine so. And it's a good place to get information from. Or, say, for an assassin to pose as one of the girls, and kill their target..."

That seemed a better plan than anything he had. Jafar nodded slowly. "Go make yourself useful then."

"Me?" it seemed to be a certain type of woman who would feel flattered rather than insulted at such an insinuation. Yet she didn't even scald Jafar on speaking to a superior in such a way. Instead she laughed, those oversized breasts of hers again threatening to tumble out from her clothing in another bid for freedom. But then, the vain _bitch _met him with a vindictive smile. And one that made even his murderous blood run cold. "Oh my~! I'd want to – but I am here to advise you. Or did you forget about that? After you begged his majesty for a last chance, too." ...Begging was an exaggeration. Really he had just glared a lot. "I'm sure a pretty thing like you can manage just fine."

...Pretty? _Him_? "I'm an assassin, not a whore. That's more the kind of place you'd fit in." Plus, it was an excuse to get the _fuck _away from her.

"Hm...the two professions can be the same, you know. Men are so easy to kill when caught in the thralls of passion."

Something he was fairly sure she had experience in. "...I'll take your word for it."

"Perhaps you should see for yourself."

That comment was just confusing, so he ignored it. He felt Falan land soundlessly from where she hovered and drew close, yet paid her no mind. Initially he thought a breeze whipped through his wild, silvery hair; yet realised soon after it was her. He froze. That _fucking bitch_ was touching his hair. Not just that, but her palms slipped down over his shoulders. "...What the fuck are you doing, woman?"

"This~? It's just a little test~"

As her perfect nails reached down to unbutton his shirt, he had enough. He snapped back to face her. "Get the fuck off me you stupid-"

It was then that a cold flash of pain ripped through him like fire. Her nails had dug in, a fleeting tattoo of dark magic left on his exposed chest that vanished instantly. As if it was soaked into his skin. That same chilling anguish running through him, he felt himself collapse. Breathing heavily, he clutched at the roof as the streams of cramping pain ran through his body. The dark, chilling flames of her magoi took root in him, even if he had no idea what this was for. The next moment, the waves of pain had abruptly subsided. And he was left, eyes watering, to glare up at her as he caught his breath.

She was smiling, and looking over his body as if in admiration. "Such a pretty girl shouldn't use such coarse language~"

"...How many fucking times do I have to tell you, you crazy ass bitch? Whatever damned experiment you're working on, keep it away from me!" somehow, Jafar noted his voice sounded different. Somewhat softer.

"But this one is just for you. I worked hard on it."

"...Like I give a shit! Use someone else!"

There was no one else, but that was hardly the point. Falan arched a reddish eyebrow as she continued to glance over him slowly. As he sat up, it was as worrying an expression as always. "You should be thanking me. You look so much better like this; better than that scrawny, unmanly body of yours."

He'd never thank her – that would mean encouraging her. Still feeling a little nauseous and lightheaded from the magic poured into him, he looked down. And paused. That...wasn't right. Where she had left his shirt unbuttoned moments before, now a significant swelling of cleavage was peeking out. He reached up, gripping slightly at the soft yet weighty mounds now adorning his otherwise slim body. "...What the fuck did you do to me!?"

"Oh, this is nothing," ...like _hell_ it was. "I just used my magic to turn your body into a copy of mine. Not as nice as the real thing, but close enough~"

"...Why?" Jafar at this point was still a little too shocked at the sudden changes to his body to really think straight. Well, aside from really wanting to kill her right now. Despite how powerful she was, right now he almost wanted that _bitch_ dead as much as he wanted to kill Sinbad.

"Because your target has a weakness for beautiful, well endowed women. Which you weren't," she told him. Tired of the lewd glances she was giving him, as if always wanted to be presented with a copy of her own voluptuous body, Jafar fumbled with his shirt. And quickly gave up, aware that whatever clothing he wore couldn't really cover such an impressive pair of breasts. "And you'll want to do this alone, won't you? As you think everyone aside from you is useless. Well, use this to your advantage at least."

Resorting to crossing his arms over his body defensively, he glared back. "I don't need your help. Change me back."

"I will. Once you kill that man, you'll go back to normal. That is, if you still want to."

"...Of course I'll want to, you stupid bitch," he glared at her. But then, her potent magic would be useful here. He began wondering if he could pose as a hostess long enough to persuade Sinbad to leave with him. It was better than any idea he had. But then, after failing to kill that man for so long, he sure as _fuck_ wouldn't have expected to do as much whilst trapped in the body of a woman. And a copy of Falan's ample frame, no less. "I'll fucking kill you if this doesn't work. Got that?"

"Hm?" luckily, she seemed too amused to take the threat upon her life seriously. "Let's get started then, shall we?"


	2. His Target, Currently Approaching

_And now I've finally got this straightened out...and thanks to both Akumarayne and SilverEcstasy for their help on that.  
_

_lovelymagic - you're quite welcome, although if you did a story on something similar I'd gladly read and give it my thoughts. I think this whole thing with Jafar's past is probably what interests me the most right now. And no worries, Jafar isn't a woman for long, I wouldn't risk my sanity on it, lol. And he would kill her but, well, there's a few problems with that. Akumarayne - I know he didn't swear too much in the manga. But I was sort of going on the fact that after 10 years of trying to kill someone he was a little more unhinged than he should be. And he does have a /slight/ temper, too._

_Anyway, big big thanks to everyone reading and commenting. Enjoy~_

* * *

**_His Target: Currently Approaching_**

It was all over in one, murderous blow. And fast enough for that _fucking incompetent moron of a guard_ to not know what had hit him. Now that shocked expression would be forever etched upon the face of Jafar's latest victim as he fell.

Really, who would have thought a lupanar would be so easy to break into? He wouldn't – not that he had tried before. This was almost pitifully easy, almost unsatisfactory. In that space of a hushed breath, the flickering of a failed heartbeat, it was done. An abrupt spraying of arterial blood later signified a life extinguished byhis hands, and that _damned muscular beast of a man_ guarding the rear exit to the foul-smelling pleasure house crumpled into a messy heap. Life poured out, painting the filthy alley a vivid red as Jafar silently stepped over the man's body.

Easy or not, he felt better. Almost as if a weight was lifted from him.

"Aw, did you have to kill him?" yes, that was the voice of Falan. That _bitch magician_, the one who had done something he wanted to kill her for, was following him. "Such a big, handsome man? It's such a waste."

_Of course it was needed, you stupid bitch_, Jafar cursed mentally. It had to be him, or he'd lose it and his blades would be finding her throat, instead. And as tempting as that was...no. she was dangerous. Too dangerous, at least for now. After all, she was a strong magician who had the inconvenient ability to turn into a _fucking doll_ if someone did the right thing and beheaded her. If he did – then what? In several months a copy of her pissed off self would track him down, and drown Jafar in a hell of blood and pain he couldn't imagine. And he didn't want that. He wanted his freedom, and he wanted Sinbad's head. He deserved a _fucking care free life _once he was done here. To be free of this _damned shitty nightmare _once and for all.

"...He was in my way," Jafar snarled, darkened and serpentine eyes flashing maliciously back at her. At least, he tried to snarl. Somewhere in that new, soft and distinctly feminine voice that _fucking woman _had cursed him with, he didn't sound remotely intimidating. If anything, he sounded slightly bewildered.

_For fuck sake..._

He could feel it building up, that irreplaceable fury of his. He took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself before he fell prey to his own _fucking anger_. His daggers retracted like claws up his long sleeves, and he rose from where he had swept down to inflict his latest death blow. Somehow, he did so less gracefully than he was used to. Something, in this recently female body of his, he just wasn't moving as well as he'd have liked. As if it's proportions were alien to him.

"Such a temper...it's a bad thing for a lady."

"...I know, you stupid bitch. Give me a moment," oh, and there was his voice, too. The one exactly like hers, as it was the _same fucking voice_. His breathy, simpering retorts were exactly like her equally breathy, simpering attempts to drive him insane. Hearing that voice twice, and from his own body, was making him want to tear his own ears off to escape it.

...This was no good. He was too angry, and in a way he hadn't been for a while. He needed to _calm the fuck down _or he'd attack Falan, regardless of the consequences. Trying to distract himself he reached up, catching in hand one of the lengthy, snowy tendrils of his hair dangling in front of him. He paused – his hair wasn't this long? He sighed. Much as he'd been made to inherit her voluptuous, full figure there was that too. His hair, even if it was caught in the bandages wrapped round much of his face, was definitely longer; and now more sleek than wild. His nails were long, almost dangerous looking which...granted he didn't mind too much. Yet his skin was still pale, and his hair colour was the same. Perhaps it was Falan making his body like hers, yet not wanting it too similar for Sinbad to remember? No, more than likely it was to push Jafar to the brink.

Jafar could think how he looked, like some _fucked up lovechild resulting from an ill-fated night with that insane bitch _– perish the thought. This was bad; he felt ready to kill her. Despite ultimately this seeming like a good plan, he was about to lose it. Why couldn't she do this? How dare she turn him into a _fucking woman_?! And not just any woman – into _her_!

He forced his eyes closed, and took a deep breath. And tried to rationalise this. What did he expect? She had been this bad for a while. For ten years – he'd been counting. Since Imuchakk, and his very first failure to kill that _bastard Sinbad _it had been like this. If only Valefor had chosen him instead, and he had picked Baal's vessel off that man's corpse...he wouldn't be in this _shitty _situation.

He had his mission though, even if it took him looking like...this. He'd kill that man, and once he had Sinbad's power she'd be dead. With that a loud, pleasurable moan escaped him. He could feel that rage subsiding, his eyes changing from their dangerous, snake-like appearance to something calm. Or rather, something less pissed off. He opened his eyes again, aware those new, sharp nails of his were cutting painful crescent moons into his palms. And he noticed Falan watching him, at that happy, slightly deranged expression spread over his features following fantasising over killing two certain people. "...Are you done?"

"Yes. What now?" that annoying, surprised voice of his asked.

"This way."

...Trust her to know her way around a place like this. It wasn't too surprising, and she hadn't been too insulted when he had insinuated he'd be at home in a pleasure house.

They passed the floor, which was almost clouded from the repulsive, cheap perfume its hostesses used. A glance was enough to see the brothel tried, and spectacularly failed, to appear more sophisticated than it was. As if it was mimicking the higher class pleasure house in the north of Remona. From the untidy strips of cheap and badly dyed linen smeared across its windows, to the fact its women looked a little too on the mature side and were caked in too much makeup, it didn't seem too fail in its attempts. Jafar could only consider its patrons were either too desperate or drunk to notice – perhaps both.

The veiled magician led him to the backrooms. If Jafar ever sold his body – which he'd rather die than doing – this would be the last place he'd go. He couldn't imagine why anyone would go there to have sex. He glanced in distaste over the row of small, concrete and cubicle-like rooms. The smell was even worse here; that of soot, mingled with sweat, the same rancid perfume and...something worse. "This place is disgusting."

"Hm? Perhaps~. Let's get you ready then, _chief_..."

...Why the _fuck_ did she have to say it like that? They passed each of those door-less cubicles as if Falan was looking for something. Perhaps one not occupied by writhing, half naked bodies and their enthusiastic moans. She stopped at once, its entrance marked by a small, stone plaque hanging by its entrance and bearing the name "Ekaterina."

"...Who the fuck is Ekaterina?"

"You," she explained, and he gave her a look. "She's the most beautiful hostess here. Sinbad will want the most beautiful, so you're going to use her name."

Most beautiful? Him? She had to be kidding. "What happened to her, then?" not that Jafar cared, he didn't. He just didn't want to be happily assassinating Sinbad for some half-dressed tart to walk in and raise the alarm. Not that it was too threatening, given his previous dealings with the pleasure house's security, he'd just rather not draw attention to himself.

"Indisposed. Oh no – I didn't kill her, if that's what you mean."

That wasn't what he cared about. "...You bitch. You planned all this from the start, didn't yo-"

An all too familiar long, violet ponytail swept past as a tall man crossed out onto the floor. Jafar's target; Sinbad, who without a doubt was looking to buy the time of the most expensive, beautiful woman working in this broken down, smelly and poorly guarded place. And that woman, laughably, was Jafar himself. He panicked, pulling Falan back into Ekaterina's room with him.

Seriously, how the _fuck_ had Jafar ended up in a situation like this? What the _fucking hell _had he done to deserve this?

"As you see, we don't have much time. You shouldn't keep him waiting," Falan said. "So just do what I say." As much as he didn't want that _bitch _ordering him about, he didn't want to miss this opportunity and nodded.

He glanced about him, and it didn't surprise him to see how small and cramped the room looked. Mostly it comprised of an uncomfortable-looking bed made of concrete, which was roughly cemented to the wall. Various gaudy toned blankets were thrown over, in a dubious attempt to make it look enticing. A neat pile of cheap looking, scarlet boxes spilling out with various bottles and tubes filled with brightly coloured pastes was set up on it. And beside those boxes there was a folded pile of un-bleached material which might be some manner of clothing.

"You'll need to wear that~" he didn't like how that sounded, at all. He also disliked how Falan took hold of that large, shapeless length of wool from where it lay across the appealing blankets and held it up to him.

"What the fuck is that horrible thing meant to be? Don't whores dress nicely?" nicely might not be the word. And sometimes they were nothing at all. He snapped his mouth shut, sighed, and told himself to endure this. "Never mind. Let's get this over with."

"Hm? You'll let me dress you, then?" a little too enthusiastic. But then, Jafar had no _fucking clue _about how women dressed. He also knew nothing about their makeup, shoes, or whatever strange rituals they did. He had no clue how to wear that...thing she was holding, much less what it was. He just wanted to kill someone. "Take off what you're wearing first."

He glared heatedly, but began to peel off that tight, dark clothing he wore to look inconspicuous. The clothes that now felt tight and strained on his chest and hips, thanks to his current body. "Do anything weird and I will kill you," he said as he stood up, and then closed his eyes.

"...Such a beautiful body. Just like I had back then," ...she was murmuring appreciatively, as if in admiration of him. As if she was happily looking over the imitation of herself and recalling the past. He just didn't want to open his eyes; he didn't want to look down. Instead of seeing his usual, pale and somewhat scrawny self he would see...her. And he didn't want to see her naked. To the point he was something of a _fucking doll_ for her to touch over and admire.

"Everyone looked at me back then, you know," she continued softly, and he just wished she'd dress him already. For several moments her fingers settled for touching over the new curves of his body. As if she knew just where on that silver-haired imitation of herself it would like to be touched...as repulse as a thought was to him. And in a way causing his body to tingle and grow warm; his hands clenched on his wires threateningly. "Before all this, every man I saw wanted me."

"I don't care. Don't touch me like that," he snapped. One of his eyes creaked upon, watching her set to work at binding that overly large stretch of wool around his body. Her eyes were mournful, subdued enough to even listen to his threats. Maybe she was just getting older, and missed that men wouldn't look her way anymore. Gradually over the past years he noticed her pale robes gradually took to adorning a plunging neckline, as if starved for attention.

Falan was silent as the garment was drawn over one of his slender shoulders. She opened one of the boxes, taking out a somewhat tacky looking brooch and two pins. The brooch was fastened to his shoulder, in a somewhat haphazard way to hold it in place. He felt puzzled; at realising he was wearing something resembling a toga. "Don't the men here wear things like this instead?"

"Yes, and low class whores like you do as well...at the start, they get removed pretty quickly. It sets them apart from respectable woman."

That was alright; Jafar doubted he'd ever pass for respectable. Similarly, he had no idea why, aside from overhearing rumours and gathering information, Sinbad would come to somewhere like this. She smoothed over the toga, and apparently was dissatisfied with it. She gave the side not fastened to his shoulder a sharp, yet playful tug, causing a chubby, rounded breast to spill out of his clothing. Then grabbed his wrist as he went to cover himself.

She really was trying to make him angry, wasn't she? He knew it, and he regarded this playful mood of hers as dangerous. He forced himself to remain calm.

"...If that's everything then," he glowered and turned away, somewhat uncomfortable with his current state. She didn't let go of his hand. "What is it now, woman? I'm wearing this, isn't that enough?"

"We're just getting started~" she reached up to his face, right as he backed against the wall. Yet she was already unravelling the bandages obscuring so much of his appearance and significantly lengthened hair. And gave a slight nod to the wires round around his forearms. "And you should be more grateful to me; you don't want to waste this opportunity. You need to be convincing, remember."

"...If you think I'm going to thank you for this, you're mistaken."

"Oh~? Honestly it's more than enough seeing you like this, _chief_..."

He glared, again. At least he could be grateful that the floor-length garment had the decency of covering the thin, stitched scars marring his legs. But then, having his face uncovered made Jafar feel more vulnerable than her dressing him like this. It was as if he just lost his anonymity to the world after all these years. As if those bandages fell away to leave him exposed, and in front of Falan of all people. She gave a soft chuckle, and narrowed his eyes. "What's so fucking funny?!"

"It's so adorable...you actually have freckles~"

_...Die. Just fucking die._

She looked over her veil, studying his furious expression with interest. "Do you want to fight me instead?" She asked, a little too softly and dangerously. "More than going after him."

"...I'd rather kill him than you," Jafar replied, somewhat honestly. Mainly as he'd kill Sinbad first, and them make her pay for this. He indicated his forearms. "I'm keeping myself armed."

"Hm? You'd be a bad assassin if you didn't. The trick is keeping those where he won't find them," not too phased by Jafar's murderous tendencies, or perhaps used to them, she took to gathering up his hair. He kept his weapons in hand as she took to smooth the white strands with her fingers, much as if she had done this countless times. She separated it, curling it into two, large and elaborate hoops. Each hoop was fastened with one of the pins she still held to either side of his head, as if in no style Jafar knew. Or cared to know about; he was sure he looked ridiculous. Overall, that didn't matter if it meant luring Sinbad away. "Sit down."

"...Stop ordering me around," yet he sat down, feeling the scratchy blankets below him and surmising the bed was as uncomfortable as it looked. She opened up a second box, instinctually seeming to know its contents and made an appreciative sound. "This Ekaterina has some nice stuff. This will clear up those adorable freckles of yours."

He resented any part of him being referred to as adorable. "...Why?"

"Hm? The men here dislike women having any marks or blemishes," that might have been a good reason, if Sinbad was native to Reim. He watched her draw out a small bottle, containing an amber-hued paste along with a small brush. "Close your eyes."

"...Why do women insist on smearing so much stuff on themselves? I'm surprised they even have a face left after doing all this every day."

"They do it to be beautiful. And a lot of men do the same," she replied simply. He didn't understand it; that seemed a little pointless for his line of work, after all. Yet, again, he closed his eyes around such a dangerous person. Falan leant in, her breath passing over his skin and a little too cold to feel alive as it billowed over him. That paste, smelling something like watered down honey and herbs, was plastered over his nose and cheeks thickly, as the brush was drawn in rapid, expert succession over his face. "And it helps your skin is so pale...they like pale skin a lot. It shows the woman is pure. Healthy and doesn't work."

...Despite the fact assassination had him working a lot, not that he minded. He loved what he did, even with his current circumstances. This was just taking longer than he had thought; as if Falan was enjoying herself too much. Jafar just doubted everything needed to be so _fucking perfect_, especially as he'd probably be killing that man before long. He seemed to draw back, locating something cold and metallic, and was used to pinch somewhat painfully at his eyelashes. Moments later he was doused in something smelling like the same vile perfume he'd smelled elsewhere in the pleasure house, and drew away. "I'm done; you look beautiful."

Somehow Jafar doubted that. With half of his chest exposed and hanging, something revolting plastered over his face, and now smelling like he did he'd wager he looked cheap enough to pass as a whore working there. But that might be what she meant.

"Sort out your wires, and get to work."

...More being ordered about by that _bitch_. All the same, he took to carefully un-wrapping his weapon from his wrists and forearms. He leaned back, against the warm and alarmingly sticky wall and drew his clothing up above his knees. He had been in the process of coiling one wire around the pale skin of his upper thigh, ensuring it was restricting enough, when Falan approached him again, bottle in hand. "What now?!"

"You're so loud," before he could react, she had already taken to dabbing that same, sickly sweet paste over his skin. Over his scars, more accurately. "Remember? Men like to have their women unmarked."

...He was no one's woman. Or man, more accurately. And Sinbad wasn't even from Reim, for _fuck sake_. "...So? There's no way he'll come close to seeing these."

"Are you sure? He's somewhat hard to resist," he pushed her away, yet was somewhat astonished by what she had at least started to do. Some of those deep scars seemed so faint compared to before, even if they were still rough to the touch. But that was just unnecessary, and he didn't trust himself not to kill her if she continued. Instead, he took to arming his second leg and ignored her.

Then he looked back. "Understand this – I'm not going to have sex with him, I'm going to kill him. Besides, doing that in this body would be weird."

"Oh? So you'd have sex with him in your usual body?"

"...Of course not!" what was wrong with that woman? Was she a _fucking pervert_, thinking of something like that? He stood up, not trusting the rage building up at him, because of that _bitch_ and what she had done. "If you're quite done, then."

"Well, if you ever want more done, let me know. I quite like you this way."

...That insane _bitch_. Just who did she think she was; using him as a way to reminisce over her past, failing beauty? He charged out of the room, angry, and eager to lure his target away after so long. Even if it meant looking like this.

He marched out of the cubicle, thoughts of murder flashing in rapid succession. First it would be Sinbad, and then Falan, lying dead at his feet. Distracted at that wonderful, recurring thought he felt himself collide with something. Or, more accurately, someone. "Ah – careful. Ekaterina is it? I was waiting for you..."

Feeling more than a little sick, he forced himself away from his fantasies of inflicting painful, and bloody, murder. He blinked, noticing this man was the same as who had just paid for the woman reputed to be the most beautiful hostess there...only to end up with Jafar. In turn the assassin found himself both steadied, and currently in the arms of his prey.


	3. His Target, Also Scheming

_A big big thanks to Akumarayne, Kheelwithit and lovelymagic for your reviews. And the rest of you for taking the time to read this, of course, it means a lot.  
_

_ lovelymagic - the odd thing is I do like Falan, but then I have a liking for strong, somewhat sadistic female characters. I'm not sure if she's actually sadistic, but enough so to experiment on people. She's definitely going to sew further chaos, and do some otherwise nasty things. If you did make an account and made a story I would love to read it (I can fully understand the perfectionist thing, too. It drives me a little crazy). Regarding fandoms they're..well, they're a thing. Some people can be somewhat rude, I agree. At at times I don't think there's an excuse for it, but then some people are just like that. The special with the "bath" thing did make me laugh sure. I adore Jafar when he was younger, and he's my favourite thing in the manga. Such a cute, nasty little psychopath. Rest assured though - his being a girl is just mainly to make him feel awkward and satisfy Falan's somewhat perverse enjoyment, and he won't be a chick for much longer (if Falan's not actually this twisted...sorry :p I got carried away which I have a tendency to do).  
_

_Anyway, thanks to you all again. And enjoy~  
_

* * *

_**His Target: Also Scheming**_

Fetching wine for his target at least gave Jafar time to gather his thoughts. If only Falan, that _fucking bitch magician_, had confided what she was up to. And he just _knew_ she was up to something; knowing her this long it was hard to believe otherwise. If only he had more time, then the assassin could have prepared for this. Given a week, heck even a day, he could have meticulously observed this place, and everything that was expected of the girls in this _damned lupanar_. He might even have worked out what it was, to act like a woman of a brothel.

His dark eyes narrowed dangerously, a slight snarl escaping him. It was enough to startle one of those painted, flighty creatures stood at the empty bar with him. Quickly she averted her dark ringed eyes, taking a jug of wine in hand as she padded back to the fattened, leering beast who had paid for her. But then at least in this place, Jafar surmised that the women appeared and disappeared just as quickly. So that at least made it difficult to remember a new face. Even if he was a stranger there, if he was quick in his nefarious deeds then none would trouble him. Or so much as notice him, perhaps. At least, not until they discovered their guard, currently murdered in a pool of his own blood. He knew he was dedicated enough to not fail in whatever he set his mind to; aside Sinbad, none had eluded him. This was different – the idea of seducing another man? He never expected to do something like that.

Jafar drew a deep breath, that heavy and heaving chest of his rising animatedly. That was also something he wished to ignore; this ridiculous body he was trapped in. Just thinking of it risked himself falling prey to those vivid, murder-fuelled daydreams he loved so much. So he composed himself, using those stolen moments to scan the room. Somewhere so clouded with the smog of cheap perfume and mists of cigar smoke it stung at his eyes. Rubbing at them he glanced at those women he wished to imitate. At how they perched like colourful, prettied birds on the laps and knees of their patrons. Always he noted they were polite and softly spoken; that they cooed attentively to every comment whilst keeping the drink flowing.

That was a problem; Jafar considered himself neither polite, nor softly spoken. His brief analysis of this, and overhearing their hushed conversations, just made him think these women were insane. And not insane like that _fucking crazy bitch Falan_. Insane in doing this to themselves, he thought. How they smeared that nasty, watered down makeup on their faces and bodies as if to mask themselves from the world. Much as he had. How they wore uncomfortable, ill-fitting clothes styled to reveal parts of their bodies. Which...he was also currently doing. Lastly how they draped themselves over such despicable men, selling their bodies for time and money. Well, Jafar wouldn't be paid, would he?

By that logic, that made Jafar the most insane of all. He, posing as the best hostess in this _shitty, run down excuse for an establishment_. Something which seemed as much as a cruel, tasteless joke as it was a newly realised nightmare of his. He blinked, pulling back from taking in the scene. And just believed he was going to perform abysmally.

Well it wasn't as if he was going to sleep with Sinbad. He just needed to lure him away.

Moving to leave, he noticed his bare feet were sticking to the floor. The cement under his toes was filthy of course, all but congealed with dirt and the sickly scent of spilled alcohol. Lovely. Taking care not to overbalance in this new, voluptuous body of his he crossed the floor. All the while he was careful to move gracefully in those long, flowing garments he was unaccustomed to. That man, that _bastard Sinbad_, was already there of course. A head of violet hair currently admiring the rumps of whatever girl passed by. Whilst supposedly with Jafar, he was looking at other women. He paused; why, _for fuck sake_, was he referring to himself as a woman? And who _gave a shit_ if that man noticed anyone?

Oh, this would be a long day. Just past noon, and he just wanted a _fucking bath_. After this, he intended to break into the house of a stuffy old lord. He's murder anyone in that _unfortunate bastard's_ home, and steal everything there. Then bathe amidst his crime, to wash the very memory of this from his body.

For now, he settled to sweeping down to sit at his target's side. "Goodness...I am sorry for keeping you waiting," he simpered in that _fucking annoying_ voice of his. He perched, just as those women did, and resisted the urge to slouch back. And kept his eyes locked on that man; that aspiring king now twenty-four years old. And who was glancing over him in a somewhat hungry way.

That gaze was something, certainly. Powerful, commanding and not quite as he remembered. Eyes, of course, that wouldn't recognise him. The man looked too _damned cheerful_, and he gave an easy and warm smile. "How could I ever hold a grudge against such a beautiful woman? Your reputation doesn't do you justice, Ekaterina."

"Oh? You're far too kind..." Beautiful? Him? As if a man cared to hear such a thing. Those familiar flashes of murderous metal and gushing blood swept over Jafar's mind. Delightful thoughts which caused his faded eyes to glaze over and brighten. He even looked peaceful; at least he hoped he did. It would be a shame if Sinbad ran screaming from him.

Yet as if to stoke the embers of the silver haired man's fiery temper, his prey encircled his waist with an arm. And he stopped that falsely sweet look of his dissolve into a cold death glare. Being...touched like that. He took a deep breath, and did as he was observed. He learned in, still amazed his soft body didn't overbalance. He filled the glass laid out on the table with wine. From the little he knew, he understood this was the best the establishment had to offer. Which came to Jafar not watering it down. But then he wagered Sinbad had done well for himself over the years. Well enough for the assassin to wonder what he himself had been doing; pursuing the same man and failing time and time again to take his life.

"It's rare I have such a handsome man for company," he informed his target silkily. His fingers teased softly up and down the stem of the glass before handing it over, careful to brush over Sinbad's hand as he did. Catching his eye he set the jug to one side. Someone like that, as Falan suggested, was far too good for a place like this. There was no reason for him to be there, unless it was to gain information on Reim.

Which, of course, was something Jafar didn't have.

"And you are...very unusual," Sinbad noted quietly, taking to stroke a finger up the assassin's pale, outstretched forearm. He hated having his arms exposed like this, and without his wires coiled round them. His company drew back, sipping thoughtfully at his wine. "Soft fair skin, silver hair...I've seen no one like you in Reim. But I recall someone like that...where, I wonder..."

...Jafar wasn't remembered at all, was he? Not in this entire time he had hunted the dungeon capturer. He had just been a fleeting inconvenience who had never been given a second thought. And why was he surprised? "You've seen someone like me before?"

"I think so, but I can't remember. Maybe if you tell me where you're from, I might."

Hell if Jafar knew where he was from. Wherever it was, he had been taken from there at a young age. He barely even remembered his parents. Just that they had failed to protect him from the evil men hurting him. And that was why he never regretted killing them. He saw no reason no mention something like that. Instead he looked into those appealing eyes, and their honeyed shade of amber. Lovely...even if he had no idea why he was noticing something like that. "Oh, I know all about myself already. I want to hear about this lovely man in front of me."

"I'd have thought you'd know all about me," Sinbad was saying. He had passed his glass to his other hand, as if setting up a game. And as if adhering to the rules Jafar leaned over to fill it, without a doubt giving that letch a generous view of the exposed half of his chest. He brushed against him, aware he couldn't reach. So he slipped up to sit on the man's lap, trying not to contemplate murdering him as he did. There he filled the glass, and watched a large hand reach to caress over his knee.

The material of Jafar's toga was bunched up under those fingers, before routinely smoothed over. It was almost hypnotic to watch, and he felt heat rush to colour his pale cheeks as that man took to massaging the crook of his knee. What was this man playing at – was he trying to seduce a simple whore? He was ridiculous. "I know about you? My...I haven't even heard your name yet."

"I just thought you'd recognise me."

"Really?" Jafar gripped his hand, right as it palmed up over his knee to inch up his thigh. The last thing he wanted was Sinbad finding his wires, coiled around his legs to hold his daggers there. So he placed his hands in his lap, and felt the man reach to take them. "Are you that famous then? As famous as me?"

"...It would seem not," his prey took to smoothing his fingers over the pale man's wrists, his thumbs drawing back and forth slowly. And watched Jafar as he watched them. "I'm Sinbad..." he said, both quietly and proudly, and was surprised as he was met with a vacant look. "...You've never heard of me, have you?"

He leaned back against a broad shoulder, feeling oddly relaxed as he watched those tanned fingers caress their slow circles over his palms. A sense of calm, both relaxing and warm, passed through him. It quenched whatever murder fantasy he held over being touched, and make Jafar admit something to himself. That he was enjoying this. And perhaps too much. "I can't say it's a name I've heard before," he lied.

"...Really?" the person he was perched on glanced over the curvaceous figure pressed to him accusingly. Even his hands ceased their stroking, as if not believing that blank expression at his name. It was fun, perhaps a little vengeful for Jafar to suggest he had never heard of the man who had forgotten him. The sheer arrogance of the aspiring king made it worth it. He really believed his name would reach the ears of Reim. That this Ekaterina would have heard of him. "...You've not heard of the man, sailing the seven seas all this time? Who has captured five dungeons so far? Who is looking to becoming king of a country he's building himself?"

Oh...he was so flustered about this. And Jafar met him with a gentle smile. "It does sound very impressive to have done all that. All I heard is that there's a prince in Kou. He's been said to have just taken a third dungeon in the past months. They say he's very powerful...and handsome. And you say you've done more than him?"

"...Tsch," Sinbad drew a hand away and took his glass.

And Jafar leaned forward with him. "...Now, don't be like that. I was only teasing you," even if he had no idea why, he pressed his lips to the other man's. Closing his eyes he could feel himself drawing in that sour, tingling taste of wine caught on them. And alcohol was that one poison the assassin had little tolerance to, and pulled away flushing "Did you really believe I'd not have heard of someone like you?"

"...That wasn't very nice. You have a nasty streak," oh, he didn't know the half of it. Despite that somewhat founded accusation Sinbad reached to tuck a strand of snowy hair behind Jafar's ear as they leaned back together. "But it might take more than a kiss for me to forgive you..." he mused, stroking over those pale, slender wrists again. "You can start with telling me something about you."

"If that's what you want..." somehow his voice sounded breathy. His heartbeat had picked up, even if he was clueless why. Just that he didn't wish it to end, and was trying not to smile. "Then I'll tell you I'm looking for a man. Someone powerful, handsome who I lost to. So I've spent many years trying to find him, even if he's forgotten me," he tilted back to meet with those eyes again. "But I'll make him remember me; I'll ensure I'm the last thing he sees."

"I'd never have guessed you'd be a romantic," ...romantic was hardly what he'd call it. Jafar just knew that he'd be the last thing that man saw as those beautiful eyes grew cold to the world. "But what if you never find him? It would be a shame watching you waste your life on something that won't happen."

...It would happen, however. Jafar would make it happen.

"What do you suggest then? That I go with you?" he asked, and with the same breathlessness. Sinbad nodded, reaching up to smooth a finger slowly down his neck. He hovered at his exposed collarbone, as if knowing this might convince him. It wouldn't. "Come with me to the backrooms, then."

"I might just do that," his prey leaned in, and pressed against his upper lip. A kiss, soft and becoming both warm and moist as it captured him fully and he closed his eyes. He felt a hand reached up, taking to unbinding his hair from those elaborate hoops, before it veiled down lightly over his shoulders. "...I thought your hair would look better like this. I was thinking...I could take you away. To a much better place."

"Hm?" ah, Jafar thought he knew what this was about. Sinbad hadn't even come here for information, perhaps. He had come for this woman, for Ekaterina himself. He seemed to have come here with a mind to convince her to leave with him. Maybe not to seduce her, but to charm a potentially useful source of information into joining his country. So he had his schemes as well...he shuddered, as another light kiss found him. "Where would you have me go with you, then?"

"Somewhere I think you'd like, where you can really show your talents," yet another of those slow, soft kisses to tempt him, a finger curling under his chin to hold him there. Well, not many would be foolish or arrogant enough to try and seduce a whore like this. And Jafar wasn't going to admit he was enjoying it. "Someone as beautiful and useful as you should be part of my country. Part of Sindria."

He felt himself swallow heavily. How vain he was, even naming a kingdom after himself. Or maybe it was a matter of a lacking imagination. But he was impressive enough, perhaps. Cleared dungeons, build a country from nothing..._fucked_ anyone and everyone he wished to. Yet this offer wasn't made to Jafar, some unimportant person who was long forgotten. And likewise, Sinbad wasn't meeting Ekaterina, who he had come all this way for. "...Come back to my room. And do whatever you can to persuade me to go with you."

"I can definitely try that," Sinbad nodded slowly, that forefinger stroking down his throat before pulling away. Maybe he thought this easy; a few touches and kisses accompanying some melodious words was all he needed to gain allies. Right now though, he was the target being lured away. As he stood, Jafar rose with him. And with a last, hungry look that aspiring king allowed his hand to be grasped and to be led away to the backrooms.

Perhaps now, after these years, Jafar would be remembered.


	4. His Target, Disengaged

_This one proved a bit (lot) of a pain to write, so apologies if it took a while. On that note it gets a little...well, hetro just to warn those of you with somewhat sensitive yaoi sensibilities (if there is such a thing. Also I warn people against yaoi, against het, what won't I warn them against?). But Jafar will be going back to his normal, male-shaped self very soon  
_

_Big thanks to kheelwithit (some more sexual stuff, not quite on the two guys thing yet. And yes I am a tease, sorry lol :p), Akumarayne (thanks for helping me so much, and Jafar's in for a long, long bath now) and Green Sphynx (you're welcome. And of course Sinbad is one step ahead, it's Sinbad :p and yeah, Jafar is a bit lacking for love. Poor Jafar) for their comments. And everyone else reading._

_Anyway, enjoy~  
_

* * *

_**His Target: ...Disengaged**_

"...Now we're alone I wanted to say something," Sinbad led the way to that cubicle, Jafar lagging behind and not listening. As needless to say, he actually didn't give _a fuck _what his lecherous prey was talking about. "That is, I know you aren't Ekat-hey!"

Abruptly the silver-haired assassin pushed him, mainly to just shut the man up. If he had been listening, it was actually the case he was going to be told something useful Oh well. Instead he just shoved with as much strength he could muster in that unfamiliar, curvaceous body of his. That elusive target of his hurtled face first into the far wall, colliding with it in a surprised grunt. Those fussy, marked, scratched containers of makeup were sent flying, smudging against the filthy ground in smears of gaudy violet and red. Delicate-looking silver utensils scattered, breaking upon concrete. Jafar smirked; not so graceful now, was he?

"...That hurt! What do you think you're doing?" that robed figure demanded, whipping round to face him.

"My apologies, your majesty. I... slipped," he offered as a reply, that simpering, girlish voice _fucking annoying _him yet again. He drew into the room, the very place belonging to that apparently infamous hostess known as Ekaterina. That woman known by Sinbad to be unparalleled in her capabilities to gather information from her patrons. She was more than likely buxom and beautiful, at least enough for this handsome, somewhat charming man to transverse whole continents for. All of this, and yet he'd more than likely have forgotten everything about Jafar.

Not that the assassin cares; what was it to him, who his prey was there for? He may well have beaten dungeons, established a country and seemed to think he _could fucking _seduce every woman he met, whore or not. Even Jafar – not that he was a woman. Or a whore, for that matter. Besides, soon he would be dead; soon Jafar would feel that crimson cascade of life trickle warmly over his fingers before casting Sinbad's corpse aside. The last thing he wanted to aspiring king to see was Jafar stripping him of every metal vessel he had accumulated over the years. That might repay the humiliation the assassin had endured in trailing him, as well as repaying the decade of his life he had lost. Then he would get his body back, and then he would slaughter _that damned bitch magician like a fucking pig_.

Simple.

"Slipped? That hurt..." Sinbad was rubbing his hand, yet met him with a warm smile. As if it was forgiven; a mistake. A lovely smile really, even if Jafar didn't know why he was nothing such a thing. The pale, assumed female who was in fact an extremely dangerous male eyed him over. Those honeyed eyes looked over him hungrily again. "Anyway, as I was saying-"

Again, Jafar didn't care. He took hold of that hand, for some reason guiding it to his waist as if in way of an apology. Then he steps up on his bare toes for a kiss.

...Actually kissing that drunken letch. And actually enjoying it. "Let's not talk. I'm sure I can make you feel better in other ways..."

And he kissed back. Why, for _fuck sake_ was Jafar doing this. Playing at being a whore still, kissing him – should he be doing this? Yes...as he tasted nice. Amazing actually, with that sour tang of wine clinging to his lips. Not that the pale man liked alcohol; it was just such a despicable and unnecessary thing. That fevered assault continued in its damp and demanding attacks, seeking out that acidic taste again and again. His body all but tingled, breathing heavily as he gripped at those tanned, well muscled forearms. Strange; it wasn't as if Jafar had ever found a man attractive. But then, it wasn't as if he relished the idea of fucking a woman, either.

Maybe it was that _bitch magician's _fault that his body was acting so shamefully. Perhaps, but Falan had told him men tended to lower their guard when kissing someone. And when doing more than kissing; trust her to notice something like that. And his violet-haired target was intoxicated, happy and careless. So in order to take his life it made sense to continue.

It was how Jafar rationalised it; mainly as he didn't want to admit his body wasn't controlling himself. He felt Sinbad grip his elbows, a warm tough slipping over his upper arms in turn. He himself wasn't aggressive however; a light, somewhat tender caress of Jafar's upper lip before sucking moistly at it before shifting to claim the other. As if commanding him to be less forceful.

_Fuck that_...

"...You know, you're very good at interrupting me. It makes me want to take you with me too," Sinbad broke off finally yet didn't move away. "First though, there's still that thing I wanted to say."

"Oh?" a false girlish giggle. It was really quite something, the assassin secretly desiring to strangle himself in that moment. Yet he watched Sinbad move, taking his wrists and lightly guiding them to rest on his chest. Against that broad chest, its steady heartbeat and the sculpted, perfect muscles beneath his clothing. Heat rushed to the assassin's face, considering of the two he was the more distracted. "You want to take someone like me all the way back with you? I've never travelled outside of the capital."

"...I wonder about that," the one who he was supposed to be killing right now leaned down, breath catching in Jafar's hair. Causing the heart to rush to his face. "Beautiful as you are, you're not the best liar. But that's alright; I don't think its right for a woman to be deceitful."

"Then you haven't known enough women," more than likely, Sinbad knew more than him. Or he just knew a particularly insufferable one in particular. Even so he toughed lightly over that man's chest, curious how his skin felt. How smooth it was, how his arms might feel...strange things to think about. Especially as he didn't remember being this close to someone, at least not when he was hurting them. Or a long time again, someone hurting him.

"I don't think its possible for a man to ever meet enough of them," a knowing smile. Then without warning Jafar watched his target step to the side, pushing him forward. Before he knew it he was facing the wall, oversized and half bare chest pressed into the wall, rubbing against the discoloured plaster. And held there.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Standing behind you," a simple reply, and a rich laughter. Soft laughter really, as if Sinbad was amused as he leaned in. He took to nipping gently at Jafar's earlobe and earning a slight shudder. The pale man became aware of something slipping up, deliberately pressed into the crevice of his backside. Something hot, throbbing... he knew exactly what that was. "I thought you'd like that. Will you listen to me now without interrupting?"

He didn't want to; he didn't want something like that pressed to him. Or to enjoy how it felt, even through clothing. After all, despite his current appearance he was still a man. Even as Sinbad pressed in and he gave something of a breathy moan, he was telling himself that.

"As I was trying to say..." Sinbad continued gently. Jafar felt silken lips press hotly to his neck, leaning back as they did. A touch kneaded softly at his stomach as his target drew his arms round him. As if embracing him. "I know you lied to me before. After you knocked into me, I assumed you were someone else yet you said you were her."

"...What sort of man expects a whore to tell the truth?"

"Your body seems honest enough for me. Which I don't mind..." that soft caress of his stomach continued, nails scoring over the thin woollen material he was wearing. A slight yet sharp sensation scoring over his skin. That same sensation of a tongue drawing slowly over his bare shoulder, making him give something of a defeated moan as his fingertips dug into the cracked wall. "Honest enough that I know you're new at this, inexperienced yet too lovely for this place. I want to know who you are."

"Ekaterina. You came all this way for me, or did my aspiring king drink too much already?"

"You came out of her room, yes. And once I turned back you responded to her name. I played along, as I wanted your company. However..." the assassin froze; something wasn't right. Even if his tone was playful, he was beginning to think of reaching for his weapons by instinct. "Ekaterina is a very memorable woman, and more for her talents at gaining information. She's...unique in appearance, tall and muscular so nothing like you. I met her a while ago when she fought in the coliseum, and it's no secret she was going to return to Sindria with me."

...Well fuck. Did that _bitch magician _know this? More than likely she did, and just wanted to embarrass him. He thought quickly for an excuse. "She's sick, so I was fetching something for her. Then I bumped into you and just...said I was her. You could have told me, you know. Not...say all those things about me going back with you."

"What if I was serious? I can see her when she's feeling better. And I can take you back as well."

"I'd say you're a greedy man, not satisfied with one woman."

"It's like you know me..." Sinbad's fingers moved to circle his navel, not releasing him. "But all the same, someone as beautiful as you should come back with me. I insist."

Jafar sighed. "Perhaps you aren't as charming as you think you are."

"Hm? I wasn't trying to charm you," he seemed genuinely surprised by that. "I'm surprised you're refusing me though, given this place..." he commented as he stroked at the man in his grasp. "It's not nice here. And you seem the sort of girl to dedicate herself to her work – I like that. I watched you, and thought this might even be your first day. Yet you covered it up; whilst you fetched my wine you looked about. You watched how the other girls acted, and copied them. Not...too well, however."

Jafar frowned; he copied them perfectly as he saw it. "I'm flattered you were watching me."

"Looking like that, it's hard not to..." he felt Sinbad guide him from the wall, pushing him back carefully to sit on the bed. Another of those light kisses, and his wrists taken in that same intimate manner. "But I mean it; I'd love for you to come back with me as well. It could be your chance for a better life."

Why, the assassin thought, would he ever consider going anywhere with such a person. "I'll think about it."

He laughed. "Then perhaps we can spend our time together with me convincing you..." after all, Sinbad seemed to like who he thought was Ekaterina's replacement. Who, quite correctly, had in fact never done something like this before. It just seemed ironic, given how both men had entered a pleasure house with no intention of sating their desires. Only he personally was keen on keeping it that way. Sinbad however pressed in, enough to push him back to lay on the bed with an arm either side to keep him there. He wriggled back, body shifting upon itchy blankets until he found himself reaching a set of somewhat musky, cheap pillows.

"It might cost you more if I go with you."

"If it would buy your name I might consider it," somehow, Jafar doubted he'd believe that name if he told it to him. He stared blankly, pinned there...enjoying being pinned there. "No? Well, maybe when I'm done you'll feel like telling me."

That knowing smile alarmed Jafar somewhat, right as his target knelt over the assassin. The man's attention caught on that still exposed, rounded breast and he leaned down into it. Warm breath billowed pleasantly over his oversensitive skin, and he watched a large hand cup at it. Jafar's eyes widened, watching the person pressing down on him lap at the hardening bud before taking it into his mouth. Jafar closed his eyes, not wanting to see his expression; and trying to ignore that wet, sucking sensation that his lewd body enjoyed. He just flattened against the bed in a soft gasp.

He definitely wasn't ready for that, nor the fact Sinbad's other hand was settled at the small of his back as if to hold him in place. He pressed up into that fondling hand, annoyed when it drew away. When he, the man supposedly paying for him, drew away. He watched that tacky, cheap-looking cameo brooch fastened to his clothing removed without his consent. The loose material spilled off his chest and onto the hideous blankets below. It was then those same, white hot kisses continued, trailing down the side of his body that had just been uncovered. Starting at his throat, down his neck to his shoulder. Then lastly to his collarbone before settling at his other breast, hands soon to follow.

"Why..." he gasped slightly, trying to get attention of a somewhat occupied person. "Why are you doing this? Don't you usually pay someone to do...things like this?"

"Hm..." a content and muffled voice, still buried against flesh, seemed to consider that yet didn't move. "I just thought if you were new then you'd not be too experienced in pleasing a man. You can learn though, especially if you come back with me..." The slight sound of licks and kisses returned, and Jafar felt very much trapped under that handsome body. As he continued to endure the humiliation of being touched and savoured this way, he wondered what he'd do when he killed this man. If Sinbad was killed here and now, how the _fuck_ would the assassin actually get free? He'd just be trapped like this, under a lovely corpse. He severely doubted that he'd be able to move him. And as this continued, it would only get tougher to do.

At least his thighs were still covered, for now at least. Sinbad seemed preoccupied enough with his curvaceous upper half to expose the weapons he had hidden. It was almost as if he had just unwrapped some delightful treat, currently writhing below somewhat helplessly.

Of course he was such a thing. He was here to kill someone _damnit_. Even whilst in that hungry grasp, unable to stop it.

_Fuck_...he didn't even want to stop this. There he was, flattened against the blankets, forced to suffer this indignity. Feeling the kisses returned to his throat, pressing him back against the pillows. Continuing that playing over his chest, pushing him to the point where Jafar no longer felt in control of himself and was going to explode. The needy gasps in his voice urged for this to continue, so it did. His, slender legs gripped around that tanned waist, looking to keep his seducer close.

This might have been what Falan meant. That _damnable woman_ knew her body; of all its lusts and perversions. This was her fault – she _fucking knew _that this would happen. She wanted to humiliate him by having him fucked by the very man he had vowed to kill. It was so like her – she's find the idea of him succumbing in this way hilarious.

It wasn't. And he was by no means succumbing either; he _hated_ this and wanted it to stop. Or no, he loved it...he didn't know anymore.

Sinbad was gripping his hips, still covered by his toga before smoothing over them. Lifting them to press in between his parted legs. His own body grateful for it; bucking and trembling. Twitching as those palms trailed over his body, those large, soft domes and their erect pert nipples still coated in frenzied kisses and licks. His thighs parted even further, willingly, desperate to accept that familiar hardness pressing against him. That _fucking dick_, engorged and throbbing, was pressing against him hotly. As if to tease him with what was about to happen. The material of the cheap clothing he wore was already damp, perhaps soon to be soaked. Especially given Jafar's legs had tightened to press his prey in further; desperate and beginning, thinking he might break this way. Groaning in defeat; a strangled moan that echoed around the small cubicle.

This was so humiliating. Him, of all people, reduced to a heaving, twitching and powerless mess. There, being fondled and enjoyed by that man he had sworn to kill. Being _fucking sexually tortured_ into revealing his name. He clutched handfuls of that sleek, richly toned hair falling over them. Helpless, as the one who would be his prey did this too him.

Somehow though, as Jafar lay there twitching, he felt alive. Whole. Not like some simple ghost dwelling in the shadows waiting to strike. Instead he was there, features flushed red, but there nonetheless. Aware of a warm, oddly smelling fluid pool out from his body. Feeling it spill onto his clothing hanging off his hips, and the blankets below. Clinging to his thighs.

...Disgusting. Truly disgusting.

"...What a lovely expression. Are you sure you don't want to come back with me yet?" Sinbad asked. In turn he couldn't respond. No words came out as he just watched him through lidded eyes. As if he was spent before he even started,

As it was, that man currently working to frenzy reached up to loosen his hair, despite Jafar still gripping to it. It spilled out in a dishevelled man; an inky shower falling down around them. Lovely. Transfixed he watched his prey take to unfastening each and every one of those necklaces, rings and bracelets he wore in total. Taking his time as he did..._too fucking long_. Long enough to leave him deathly annoyed. "...Hurry up."

"Hm? What was that?" next the man's sword, set against the foot of the bed. This seemed deliberate, part of his teasing as he knew Jafar was annoyed by this. Sinbad had become to unlace his robes, a tanned, beautifully sculpted shoulder exposed. The assassin's pulse deafening in his ears as he watched. "I think the pretty girl likes what she says..." as if he thinking this striptease was enjoyed.

No, Jafar just wanted him to _hurry the fuck up _and get back to him.

"Should I really do what you want though? You still haven't said your name..." a slightly darker expression as the man above him leaned in, nails grazing over a clothed thigh as he reached something that didn't feel entirely familiar. What the..._fuck_ was that? Well, Jafar knew he didn't have a dick like this. So that meant...he gasped. Then moaned. Loudly.

A cheerful laugh. "Like that then?" no, he didn't know what it was. Three fingers pressing in, rubbing against an unfamiliar part of his body. That distinctive charge, running under his skin. The material pressed between his legs sticking to him, sopping wet, as that touch rubbed back and forth slowly. He could feel his body twitching somewhat dangerously. And snatched hold of his wrist. "Ah? Maybe I'll stop if you don't tell me."

"...Stop and I'll fucking kill you, you bastard."

"That...was a bit scary you know," yet he had stopped. And as Jafar glared over him he noticed why. Sinbad had taken to drawing off the rest of that decidedly ruined toga, laying him bare. Yet he was currently was looking over those meticulous, needle-like scars running up both of his inner legs. And with it, the weapons neglected yet bound to Jafar's body.

Part of him almost felt disappointed, knowing this game was over. But he wanted that man dead. Ignoring his body's desire to lay there prone he grasped the dagger tied to his right leg. Its wires unravelled in a thin streak of crimson. His eyes narrowed to snake like slits and he struck forward, looking to repay this humiliation. And watched the blow connect with Sinbad as he reached to stop it. "...What did I fucking tell you? If you stopped then I would kill you. Moron."

A spray of blood as his weapon found its way through Sinbad's palm. And the man in turn gripping to his hand to stop it travelling further. He had good reflexes, at least. Red liquid dripped slightly, down to Jafar's stomach in a stench of metallic heat. Smearing him with that enticing scent. And for his prey there was that delightful gasp of agony mixed with shock; a pained look that was beautiful to behold. Quickly the assassin grabbed his other dagger, yet felt himself stopped by a tight snatching of his forearm.

"...That'll teach me for not checking someone I try to have sex with isn't trying to kill me," Sinbad lamented. That lovely pained look faded, releasing him and backing away quickly. He had already gripped his sword, holing it in his uninjured hand. _Fuck_...Jafar had lost his chance. Especially as his _damned moronic_ body seemed to want to lie there and be pleasured than do as he told it to. He needed to get out of there; yet again he had failed.

"I could imagine a lot of people want to kill you Sinbad," he rasped quietly. The silver-haired man forced his body to its feet. Aware his way was barred. "Hm, what if I tell you my way? Will you let me go?"

"Are you crazy? You just stabbed me in my hand!" that injured hand was balled into a fist; crimson drops falling to the filthy ground. "A pretty girl shouldn't go round doing things like this, you know."

"...Oh for fuck sake! I'm not a whore. Jafar. That's my name," a slight look of realisation. Wait...Sinbad finally remembered him? _About fucking time..._"I don't give a shit if you remember me. Just that I remember you...that back in Imuchakk that damned djinn should have picked me. Then I could have been powerful, and killed you. Then you'd be dead, and I wouldn't be in this shitty situation. Get it? It's all your fault!"

"...What the –"_his_ unsuccessful target for murder seemed shocked by that. And it was all he needed.

Jafar barged past him, slipping on the floor stained with blood and smeared makeup. He ran, as fast as that useless body of his would let him. Out through the unguarded back door of that disgusting lupanar, and quite naked. Filthy as well; drenched in cooling sweat, that man's blood, that...fluid still running down his legs. Ashamed. Humiliated. Furious. He didn't stop, not even when his lungs heaved and his heart grew painful. Just escaping out into that sultry afternoon in Remona, not caring anymore. Yet he never released that soaked weapon, still stained that vivid and rusting red.

Really...that had _fucking gone abysmally_. And it was all that _bitch Falan_'s fault.


End file.
